


Keep On Keeping On

by SailorChibi



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Play, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby Q, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling, Daddy James Bond, Diapers, Gen, Headspace, Hurt Q, Infantilism, Kidnapping, Little Headspace, Little Q, M was fiercely protective of him, Mild torture, Platonic Hugging, Post-SPECTRE, Protective Alec Trevelyan, Protective James Bond, Q Whump, Q does not want to be little, Q gets kidnapped, actually the violence is much less than canon, alternate universe - littles are known, as a way of getting back at MI6 as a whole, blofield wants revenge, caregiver alec trevelyan, caregiver james bond, daddy alec trevelyan, nappies, non sexual age play, non sexual infantilism, platonic cuddles, platonic sharing a bed, thumb sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-04-22 03:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14299479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: In the wake of everything that Blofield and C did and Bond's departure from MI6, Q just wants to get on with it. But life is never that easy; when Q is kidnapped, MI6's most tenacious and protective 00-agents will do anything to get him back and keep him safe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> That's right, I'm back. With a commissioned multi-chapter fic this time, even.

Q was an idiot. 

There was no other way to describe himself. James Bond, 007, had been written off by most of MI6 at this point. No one had heard from the man since the moment Bond walked away from Blofield, collected Swann, and went off into the sunset. Pretty much everyone agreed that this time Bond would not be coming back; there were already rumors flying about who would be the next agent to ascend the ranks and take on the legendary 007 title. Right now it seemed to be a toss-up between Agent Black and Agent Wu, but the decision would lie with M alone.

And yet... in spite of all that, Q couldn't stop a small flare of hope from surging up in his chest every time he heard the lift moving. No matters how many times he told himself it wasn't going to be Bond, a part of him hoped that it would be. After all, he'd heard all about how Bond had come back to MI6 once before after being given up for dead. The situations weren't exactly the same, but still. Q found it difficult to believe that Bond would be able to give up being an agent so that he could live a life of luxury. It just didn't make sense for the James Bond that Q knew.

But as Q lifted his head and caught a glimpe of Alec Trevelyan walking towards him, he was forced to re-evaluate that belief yet again. It was unusual to see 006 without 007; when both of them were in London, they were like two peas in a pod and were rarely seen outside of each other's company. Of course, Q thought, in this case, Bond wasn't in London, was he? Last time Q had checked, Bond and Swann were somewhere in Japan. This was just further proof to the theory that Bond's days as an MI6 00-agent were done.

"Morning, Q," Trevelyan said. "I've come to pick something up for James. He told me that you would have the keys."

"The keys..." Q repeated, and shook his head. At least that was one difference between Bond and Trevelyan. Had Bond come for the car, he wouldn't have bothered to politely ask for the keys. Q would've come downstairs to his personal workshop and just found the car mysteriously gone. 

"That's right. I'm meeting him later. He asked me to save some time and bring it by. You don't mind, right?" Trevelyan grinned, his green eyes bright with mischief. In spite of himself, Q had to bite back a smile. He'd always had a private weakness for 006 and 007. It was hard not to. They were both charismatic and enegertic, with a quality that drew helpless people in before they even knew what was going on, and fully aware of their effect on people. 

There was another reason, too. But it was Q's most well guarded secret, and one he typically tried not to think about in close proximity to people who had the ability to figure out what it was. Figure out what _he_ was. 

"Bond is no longer an agent for MI6. I can't just hand over the keys to a car that cost millions of pounds," Q said, looking away from Trevelyan's smile. In all honesty, he really had designed the car with Bond in mind. Everyone knew that a nice car was one of the easiest ways to get on the good side of James Bond. The man was something of a fanatic. 

"Sure you can. It's not like anyone else will get the same use out of it. No one else knows how to treat a beautiful ride the way James does."

Q tried to not to grimace at the obvious double entendre. If there was one aspect of his job that he did not like, it was the honeypot missions that he had to not only outkit agents for, but also listen to. Sex made him deeply uncomfortable and always would. His brain was not designed for that. He'd managed to cope with his distaste by looking at it the same way he looked at green peppers: he might not like it or them, but other people did. And for approximately 75% of the world's population, sex was a normal way of life and thus something that Q had to accept.

"Right," he said dryly. "Be that as it may, that car is still the property of MI6 and it will reassigned to another agent. I'm afraid I can't help you today, 006." He looked down at the compartment of his desk where he knew the keys were hidden. Naturally, Trevelyan's gaze followed his. Q lifted his head and looked Trevelyan in the eyes, then glanced back at the lift.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, as I have a meeting with the other departmental heads for the next three hours and I can't have anyone in my workshop unattended," Q added. He knew that Trevelyan would easily be able to read between the lines and pick up on the hint. Honestly, it was likely that Q would get a slap on the wrist if the car vanished. M wouldn't be pleased. But at the same time, he really had built that car with Bond in mind. It seemed wrong to give it to anyone else. 

And besides, even if he said no to Trevelyan today, the car would undoubtedly just go missing within the week.

Trevelyan smiled. "Of course, Quartermaster," he said cheerfully. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your all important meetings. Just thought I would ask." He shoved his hands in his pockets and, for the first time since he'd stepped off the lift, frowned. "You're looking a bit peaky, though. Perhaps you would be better off going home to rest."

Q snorted. "As though anyone has the time to rest right now, least of all Q branch. I'm still trying to untangle the worst of what that idiot C did to our systems. If anyone outside of MI6 caught wind of what kind of shape our systems are in right now..." He trailed off, knowing that the meaning of his words would be evident. This had the impact to be catastrophic. There wouldn't be time for anyone in Q-branch to do much more than eat and nap for the next couple of months, and that included their Quartermaster. 

"Ah," Trevelyan said, nodding. "But still. It won't be any good if you fall sick."

"I'm fine," Q said, maybe a bit more sharply than he'd intended. "Good day, 006."

Trevelyan frowned deeper, looking confused, but obligingly followed Q back to the lift. The ride up was short and tense. Q stared at the ground and used all of his considerable acting abilities to school his face into a composed expression that would fool anyone, even a 00-agent. Most days it was fairly easy to keep his secret, even when he worked amongst some of the best spies in the world. But around people like Bond and Trevelyan, it was always just a little bit harder. Sometimes Q mourned the day that MI6 had decided that two Caregivers would make fine 00-agents.

It was unusual by any stretch of the imagination, after all. Roughly 25% of the world's population was made up of Caregivers. 25% were Littles. The other 50% were neutrals. Most of MI6's agents were neutrals, as neutrals did not feel the same protective or caring instincts that Caregivers did. That meant they usually had an easier time coping with the demands of the job. And, of course, the brains of both groups were significantly different from that of Littles. Most Littles never really grew up. A few were capable of acting like adults, but all Littles required time to just be... well, little.

Q knew from looking at their files that both James Bond and Alec Trevelyan were classified as Caregivers, though he also knew that neither one of them had ever had a Little. That in itself was unusual, as most Caregivers _needed_ to take care of something, if not someone. It was a like a biological compulsion. The only explanation that Q could come up with was that Bond and Trevelyan were able to fill that compulsion through their jobs. Both of them ended up saving and protecting people on a regular basis. 

Too bad it wasn't that simple for Littles. Though some Littles did hold jobs down, most of them were incapable of escaping their headspaces. Q did not have that problem. After being kicked out of his house at the age of thirteen, right after he'd gotten his classification, he'd taught himself... or rather, _forced_ himself to learn how to hide his headspace and act like any other adult. Even now, he hid his Little side away as best he could; even behind the walls of his flat, he never felt safe enough to truly let himself go. There was no one to care for him, and too much to lose if someone else found out his secret.

Because the only person at MI6 who had known about Q's classification was the old M. She'd taken a chance on him, mostly because his reputation had proceeded him. She'd died before she had the chance to pass that tidbit of information on to anyone else in MI6, and Q had 'forgotten' to enlighten the new M or Tanner during their subsquent meetings. Though Q would miss the old M, he couldn't deny that her death had been a small blessing in disguise. Now there was no one to harass him about taking regularly scheduled time off every two months.

He could take care of himself. A few stolen moments of being in his headspace here and there was enough. It had to be enough, especially now, when Q was needed the most. But being around a Caregiver brought Q's headspace surging to the surface, and that was why he needed to get away from Trevelyan. Caregivers were often said to have something of a sixth sense when it came to Littles; they would automatically act more caring or protective towards any Little in the vicinity. It was even more dangerous because the age of Q's headspace, and the age range that Trevelyan and Bond were both most suited to, happened to match.

A match made in hell, as far as Q was concerned.

He and Trevelyan parted ways and Q went on to his meeting, knowing that the car would be gone by the time he emerged. It would be relatively easy for Trevelyan to get past the small traps and protections that Q had been able to set up. He'd always planned to add more, but with everything that had happened he just hadn't had the opportunity. At least in this case, that was working in his favor. It was the first time ever that he was glad to sit through a boring departmental meeting, if only because he had an excellent alibi.

His head ached by the time the meeting had ended. Q put his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes, trying to ease the pressure headache that was looming. Every time he turned around there was some new issue popping up that required his direct attention. It was a lot of pressure, and it didn't help that he could feel himself slipping into his headspace. The urge to cry had been building ever since his encounter with Trevelyan. Thank god he'd had the foresight to put on his special pants that morning, as he'd lost control of his bladder midway through the meeting. He needed a few minutes to himself to get re-centered.

"Alright, Q?"

"Just a headache," Q said wearily. Eve Moneypenny was the only person in MI6 he would've confessed that to, but she looked as exhausted as he felt. Like Q, Moneypenny had been flat-out for the past several weeks and it was unlikely that her duties would slow down anytime soon.

Moneypenny nodded. "I know the feeling. Just looking at this year's budget..." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "It's making my head spin. If I have to run through these numbers one more time, I'm going to shoot another agent."

Q smiled in spite of himself. "How about take away for supper?" he suggested, glancing at his watch. It was well after 10pm, but there would still be places open. It would also give Trevelyan a bit of extra time. Q did not want to meet up with him again.

"I can't. I have to go update M," Moneypenny said, looking genuinely regretful.

"I'll pop out and get some for us. I could use some fresh air," Q said. "Curry?"

She smiled. "That would be lovely, Q. I can't think of anything I'd like more. My office, thirty minutes?"

"I'll meet you there," Q promised. He stood up, swaying a little when the room blurred, and walked quickly out of the room before she could comment.

It actually felt nice to step outside MI6. He'd come up with the idea of take away to have a few minutes to himself, but now he was glad that he had. He breathed in the cool night air and already felt a little better. It was a surprisingly clear night for London, with minimal cloud cover, and he could actually see the stars dotting the sky. There was no moon, and it occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, that he didn't even know what day it was, much less what time of the month it was. It could've been September 1st or October 1st for all Q knew.

He reached for his phone to check the date just as he was passed through a dark spot. Something sharp pricked his right arm. Q stopped, or thought he stopped; the world tilted, even worse than it had when he'd stood up rom the table, and he realized he was falling. His body hit the pavement, but the pain felt like it was very far away. Four sets of hands grabbed his arms and dragged him off the pavement, into a dark alley. Then Q knew nothing else.


	2. Chapter 2

There was no such thing as a “typical day” when you worked for MI6. New hires either learned quickly to adapt to the fact that your real job description was “whatever blows up today”, or they left to find work elsewhere. It had only taken Eve Moneypenny a week on the job to learn that, and she was proud to say she’d adapted quicker than most. But this day was shaping up to be a lot worse than the usual brand of shittiness.

The Quartermaster was missing.

Eve was actually the first person who noticed his absence. After their meeting, she met with M and gave him a brief update. Then she went back to her office and began working her way through some files – some of them would need to be escalated to M’s attention, while others Eve could personally sign off. She got into a particularly nasty one about a country that wanted to sue MI6 for damages and lost track of time until Tanner poked his head into her office.

“I’m out,” he announced, startling Eve. “You should go home too. Want a ride?”

“What time is it?” Eve squinted at her computer and realized it was after 1am. She suddenly realized that Q had never returned with the take away. Her immediate thought wasn’t that he’d been kidnapped, no. She figured that Q had stopped in his office before leaving and got preoccupied.

Tanner was smiling. “Late enough that we should all be asleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” Eve said, flapping a hand at him. “Thanks, but no. I should go down and make sure Q didn’t fall asleep in a computer again.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Drag him out with you, would you? That lad looks more pale every time I see him.”

Eve thought of the way that Q had rubbed at his eyes and temple during the meeting. Not to mention that he’d turned pale as paper when he stood up, and swayed enough that she’d started to get up to steady him. He’d brushed her off, but that was just how Q was. He didn’t like anyone fussing over him; he’d confided in her a long time ago that he was concerned their colleagues already saw him as too young for the position and that he felt a need to prove himself.

“You know what, I think I’ll do just that,” she said, saving her work and getting up. The thought of going home and sleeping in her own bed for a few hours was enormously attractive. She shut her computer down, grabbed her jacket and walked down to the lifts with Tanner.

They parted ways there, and Eve went down to Q-branch by herself. It wasn’t unusual to find Q there, hovering over his minions and helping with their work. Though the room was bubbling with activity, as MI6 agents did their work at all hours of the night, there was no sign of Q. Eve returned to the lift and went down one more level to Q’s personal office, fully expecting to see an unconscious genius when the doors opened.

But there was nothing. The workshop was quiet. Eve glanced around, tracking and identifying the shapes around her, disregarding them all as inventions that Q was tinkering away with. She walked across the wide open floor and slowly came to the conclusion that Q wasn’t here. She even checked under his table, just in case he’d passed out and slid underneath. Nothing.

Alarm bells started to ring in the back of her mind, but she took a deep breath and refused to jump to conclusions. She called Q’s phone with no answer, then sent him a text, while she logged onto his computer and accessed the MI6 security cameras. A quick scan of them showed her that Q was not in the building. She tried calling him again. Still no answer.

Something was wrong.

By the time dawn broke, all of MI6 was in a frenzy. Agents had been dispatched to search for Q, using the tracking chip embedded in his phone, and had stumbled across a scene some three blocks away. There had been no signs of a struggle, but Q’s phone was found abandoned on the pavement. It was common knowledge that Q would rather chew his own arm off than abandon anything technological.

Q-branch sprang into action, but it wasn’t long before they ran into a problem. Q had been kidnapped out of sight of any cameras, and none of the tracking chips on him or in him were functioning. On M’s command, R was trying to her best to break into Q’s laptop to see if there was any helpful information inside, but there was a reason that Q was the Quartermaster: his laptop was nigh impenetrable. 

Eve blamed herself. It was impossible not to. Had she paid more attention to the time, they would’ve had a better idea of when Q disappeared. MI6 was working off the theory that Q had been kidnapped not long after he left, but that was difficult to determine. He was logged as leaving at 10:33pm. Eve hadn’t realized he’d never come back until after 1:30am. That was a three hour window during which no one knew what Q had been doing or who he’d been speaking to.

By noon, Eve had enough. She’d been up for over twenty-four hours, a good friend was missing, and all MI6 seemed to be doing was chasing their tails. She left her desk and walked outside, trying to look casual. No one gave her a second glance. She took out her phone and scrolled through until she found the right contact. One strongly worded voicemail later, Eve settled back on a bench in the sun and waited.

It only took twenty minutes. Her phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello?”

“What do you know?” Bond’s voice was crisp and smooth. Only someone who knew him well would be able to hear the strain in his voice.

“Not much. Only that no one knows where he is, and they haven’t got any leads.”

Bond was quiet for a moment. “Why call me?”

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Eve sighed. “You like him,” she said flatly – it was true, but it was also surprising enough that it needed to be said. James Bond didn’t trust many people. “Not just because he’s the Quartermaster who makes you fancy toys, but because he stood up for you and stood by you. And you owe him.”

“I got an email,” Bond said, rather than deny it. “A ransom.”

Eve went on immediate alert. “What did it say?”

“My life for Q’s.”

Oh. This was personal. Some kind of vendetta. Eve closed her eyes briefly and wished she’d never given up smoking. “And?”

“I’m on my way to meet Alec. We’ll be back by dinner. I’ll see you then.”

He hung up on her then, not that she was surprised. Bond didn’t deal with emotions well, but especially not with something like fear or guilt and he was probably feeling that in spades. He wouldn’t handle the fact that Q had got kidnapped while he was out and about with his new girlfriend well. For a split second, she kind of pitied whoever had been dumb enough to send Bond a random note. Their death would not be quick nor painless.

Eve sighed again and checked the time. That gave her a couple of hours. She had no doubt she wouldn’t fare any better with Q’s laptop than R had, but she thought maybe there might be something of use in Q’s personnel file. It was possible there was something in Q’s history that might give them a lead. He wouldn’t like anyone looking at it, so it was better that she did before anyone else got the idea. She stood up and walked briskly back to the building.

She made it back to her office without being stopped and quickly logged in. As M’s assistant, she had access to all of the HR and personnel files – at least at first glance. But Eve already knew that some of the information was locked down tightly enough that only M could access it. The old M had implemented that system. The new M hadn’t had the time to go through the files simply because there was so much else going on; it was one of those backburner things he intended on doing, but hadn’t got to yet.

Fortunately, Eve could circumvent the lockdown. She didn’t like to unless it was necessary, but she couldn’t think of a situation that fit that term better. She found her way to Q’s file, glanced around the office to be certain she was alone, and entered M’s password. Immediately the data started rolling across her screen. Eve leaned forward, propped her chin on her hands, and began to read.

When Bond and Trevelyan walked into her office, Eve was – well, not _ready_ exactly, but fully aware of the ramifications of what was about to happen. She gave them both a small smile and motioned to Trevelyan to shut the door. Unlike most agents, Eve was one of the few who had the luxury of no cameras in her office. The information she dealt with was too confidental. She’d already done a sweep for any listening devices, so she was reasonably confident that their conversation wouldn’t be overhead.

“You’re looking well,” she began, glancing at Bond.

He shrugged. “We’ve been on vacation.”

“You and Swann?”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “We,” he clarified, jerking his thumb between him and Trevelyan. “Swann is in America. Or possibly Japan. I don’t know which she ultimately decided on and frankly, I don’t care.”

Interesting. Eve mentally filed that away for further analysis: maybe Bond wasn’t as done with MI6 as the rumor mill suggested. “That’s good to know. I don’t have much to tell you, but I did discover something. It won’t help you find Q, exactly, but it will tell you what kind of shape he may be in when you do.”

“This a trade?” Trevelyan asked. Unlike Bond, he was smiling. But his green eyes were hard as glass, dangerous and aware. He might not have been as friendly with Q as Bond was, but that didn’t matter. Hurting anyone close to 006 or 007 was a guaranteed way to bring both down on your head. Eve almost pitied whoever had taken Q. Almost.

She shook her head. “Of course not. All I need is your word that this goes no further. Q’s worked hard to keep this underwraps.”

“We promise,” Bond said, watching her closely.

“Q is a Little.”

“What?!” Trevelyan exclaimed, visibly astonished. Bond just rocked back on his heels as though taking an invisible blow to the face, looking stunned.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst bit of news. “A young Little,” Eve added grimly. “From what I saw in his personnel file, he slotted into category A.” She knew they’d know what that meant. Category A, on the British Classification List, was for Littles with the headspace of a newborn to a young toddler. Zero to twenty-four months. She suspected Q was probably on the higher side of category A, but couldn’t be sure.

If she’d thought they were angry before, it was nothing compared to now. Eve shifted uncomfortably; it was like a storm cloud had drifted into the office, lowering the temperature and casting a shadow. The twin expressions of absolute _fury_ were intimidating even to an experienced agent like herself. She’d heard about the engrained protective instincts that all Caregivers possessed, but she’d never before been in a position to see them come out in full force. 

“Obviously,” she said, maintaining an air of calm, “Q will be extremely upset when you find him. He may have slipped into his Little headspace, though I hope not. If he has, you two are unqiuely positioned to deal with that when you rescue him, being that you are both caregivers. I simply wanted you to keep in mind that it’s extremely unlikely that Q will be able to help with any escape or rescue attempts.”

“Don’t worry,” Trevelyan said. His smile was gone. “James and I can take care of it.”

Eve had her doubts about that. Neither of them had ever had a Little based on what she could find. But there was no one else. She nodded. “Best of luck, then. Please bring our quartermaster home safe. MI6 won’t be the same without him.”

“We will,” Bond said, no room for doubt, and threw the door open, sweeping out of the room. Trevelyan was hot on his heels. Eve caught a glimpse of several people scurrying out of their way and knew then that either the two of them would rescue Q, or all three would die in the attempt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some mild torture in it (nothing nearly as bad as what's in canon).

Oh bloody hell, Q thought hazily, he’d been kidnapped.

He was laying on his right side, wrists tied behind his back and then to his ankles, forcing him to bend in a way that was both uncomfortable and undignified. The ropes dug cruelly into his wrists and ankles, roughened fibres rubbing at his skin when he tried to test the hold. His head spun when he opened his eyes, the world smearing into a blur of colors and formless shapes that wasn’t entirely from the drugs: his glasses were missing.

One of the shapes moved. Q jolted, biting back a gasp, as someone touched him; it was frightening to be touched when you couldn’t tell who was touching you. But then, recognizing the thin frames of his glasses, he held still and let the person put them on his face. They sat awkwardly, the angle a little off, but at least Q could see. He looked up and squinted as the colors and shapes resolved into actual people, still blurry around the edges – that would be the drug – but distinguishable.

His stomach lurched when he recognized the man standing immediately in front of him. Blofield smiled, seemingly enjoying Q’s fear, and turned to face one of the men behind him. He barked something, likely instructions, in a language that Q didn’t recognize. He hazily thought that the language might have had Asian roots, then mentally shook his head. Now was not the time.

The other men left the room and Blofield knelt, putting their faces close together. “MI6’s Quartermaster,” he said softly. “Not so dignified now that you don’t have a computer to hide behind, are you?”

“Whatever you want, I won’t do it for you,” Q said. He meant for the words to sound brave, but they came out slurred and breathless. Being brave was not a requirement of his position.

Blofield chuckled. “Oh Q. You’re doing it already,” he said, putting his hand on Q’s head. He carressed Q’s hair, and Q fought against the urge to shudder at the mockery of a kind touch. He couldn’t hold back a yelp as Blofield’s hand twisted, gripping Q’s hair and pulling hard. His head was wrenched up as Blofield sat back on his heels, and Q’s neck immediately began to throb with pain because he had no arms to support himself with.

“I know what you are,” Blofield whispered.

Oh god. Q kept a straight face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not very good at acting. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re a Little,” Blofield said, slowly and awfully, still smiling. 

Hearing those words spoken out loud was horrible enough; hearing them spoken by someone like Blofield was a hundred times worse. Q caught his breath, feeling his hands shake. He wanted to deny it, but it was like the ability to speak had momentarily fled his brain. And that happened sometimes, a hold-over from being a teenager who could go whole weeks without speaking because technology spoke for him, but not now. His throat ached with the effort of holding back fearful tears.

“You see, C was a very smart man. He collected a lot of intelligence for me. I didn’t use all of it last time. I kept some of it on the back-burner for a day just like this.”

He let go of Q’s hair. Q’s head hit the floor so hard that he saw stars. Blofield laughed again. “Imagine my surprise when he told me that MI6’s brand new Quartermaster was a Little. It’s unprecedented, you know. MI6 has always accepted Caregivers and neutrals, but Littles? They’re not… _rough_ enough, if you know what I mean. You had to be something special to circumvent that little rule. It was interesting information, but I wasn’t really sure how to use it. Not yet. Not until you killed _my_ Little.”

Blofield’s Little? Q’s head hurt and it was hard to think. The answer was staring him in the face, but he couldn’t connect the dots and it was maddening. 

“C, you pathetic excuse for an agent,” Blofield snarled, suddenly angry. “C was my Little.”

C. Shit. Q tried to breathe. “I didn’t kill him,” he said, as carefully as he could, focusing to be sure each word came out properly. “He and M were fighting – there was an accident –” 

Blofield grabbed Q’s hair and slammed his head against the floor again. Q saw stars again and almost threw up because the pain was so bad. He managed to swallow it back from pure force of will; it wouldn’t look good if MI6’s Quartermaster died choking on his own vomit. He tasted blood instead, and thought that he must have bitten his tongue without realizing.

“ _It wasn’t an accident_ ,” Blofield hissed. His sour breath wafted across Q’s face. “It was deliberate. You killed his dream. You stopped him. It was your fault. You and my dear _brother_.” He spoke the word disdainfully, like it was the worst kind of curse.

“I didn’t,” Q whimpered. Except he had. He could still remember the buzz of excitement as he’d sat down with his laptop, fingers flying over the keys as he helped to save the world. The adrenaline had been incredible. He hadn’t crashed until Bond walked away with Swann and left MI6 to pick up the pieces.

“Yes. You. Did.” Blofield grabbed Q’s hair a third time.

“Okay, okay, I did!” Q cried. He didn’t want his head to be hit for a third time. Relief washed through him as Blofield’s grip on his hair eased, followed quickly by a swell of hot embarrassment. What kind of MI6 agent was he? He couldn’t even hold out against fifteen minutes of torture – and it was arguable as to whether this even counted as torture by MI6 standards. He thought about some of the torture other agents had undergone, that _Bond_ would’ve undergone, and felt sick with shame.

“Yes, you did,” Blofield repeated, softer this time. “So I thought… why not make my revenge twofold? Why not take the one thing that Bond cares about most and kill it? Your life… Bond’s Little… all in one easy swoop.”

It took several seconds, much longer than Q wanted to admit, for the thoughts to connect in his brain. When they did, his eyes widened. He stared incredulously at Blofield. “What? You… you kidnapped me because you think I’m Bond’s Little?”

“Not just his, obviously. Trevelyan’s too. Those two never did anything alone.” Something dark and ugly crossed Blofield’s face, but it was gone too quickly for Q to parse. “It’s perfect. I’ll get revenge for C. I’ll deprive MI6 of its Quartermaster. I’ll devestate Bond, _and_ I’ll drive a wedge between him and Trevelyan. That’ll throw Trevelyan off enough that I can kill him too. Bond will be all alone… ripe for the taking. All in one… fell… swoop.” He grabbed Q around the throat, squeezing just tight enough to hurt.

He was going to die, Q thought, torn between calm and hysteria. It was an odd state to be in. He gasped for breath as Blofield squeezed, tears coming to his eyes. He didn’t want to cry, and told himself frantically that it was an autoimmune response to being strangled. Maybe it was. He couldn’t remember anymore. The rope cut at his hands as he tried to struggle, but he barely felt the pain.

Just as quickly Blofield let go, knocking Q’s glasses off. Q sank back a few inches to the floor, drawing in great, rattling gulps of air. He heard Blofield laugh and turned his face away, head spinning. He couldn’t help wondering how Blofield planned to do it. A gunshot wound to the head? Strangulation? Perhaps he’d go for poetic justice and drag Q up to some godly height and push him off. Q hated heights. 

He sobbed quietly, and this time the tears couldn’t be blamed on an autoimmune response. He was struggling to hold it together, but he could feel his grasp on his big headspace starting to slide through his fingers like water. He tried to stop crying and couldn’t; the tears and sobs kept coming, mucus running from his nose and his face growing hot and wet; an equally wet, hot feeling around his groin told him he’d lost control of his bladder. He wanted to curl up and hide. 

“Disgusting,” Blofield said softly. “C was never so pathetic. His classification was a teen, you see. I always wondered what people saw in younger Littles.”

“B-Bond’s n-not…” Q choked on the words. Spit dribbled down his chin. “N-not… mi-n-ne…” He was going to die for something that wasn’t even true.

Blofield snorted. “Really? Then why is he trying to break into my building?”

What? Q was certain he’d misheard at first. That couldn’t be right. He heard Blofield get up and leave, though he didn’t bother to look. He couldn’t see anyway, not without his glasses. He kept trying to curl in on himself, but the ropes prevented him from bending that far. He tried anyway; if the end was coming, regardless of how it came, he didn’t want to stare it in the face.

Time passed. Q didn’t know how much. It seemed an age before the door behind him opened again. He flinched and then went perfectly still, trying not to breathe. Fear coiled in his chest, building up until he thought he might die just from the force of it. He wanted to badly to be brave, but even more than that he didn’t want to die. Tears ran, unchecked, down his cheeks.

“ _Q_.”

The single syllable, uttered shakily into the air, was the only warning Q got before hands were on him. Q tried not to scream; it came out as more of a frightened wail. He was utterly certain that it was Blofield, come back to finish the job, before his glasses were set back on his thrashing head. Then the hands cupped his cheek, forcing him to hold still, forcing him to see that it wasn’t Blofield at all.

It was Bond, with a grim-faced Trevelyan hovering over his shoulder, and Q’s sobs became sobs of relief.

“Oh, Q,” Bond breathed, familiar blue eyes gone storm grey with emotion. “Shh, darling. You’re okay now.”

Q just stared at him, hardly daring to believe it. He flinched again when Trevelyan pulled out a pocketknife and moved behind him. Bond shushed him, thumbs rubbing soothing patterns onto Q’s skin, as Trevelyan very carefully cut the ropes. Q whimpered as his arms came loose and were assaulted by a painful tingling sensation as all the blood rushed back into them. He must have been tied up longer than he thought.

“Come here.” Bond moved, putting his hands under Q’s arms and lifting him effortlessly thanks to the increased strength all caregivers benefitted from. Some distant part of Q thought that he really should be more professional and refuse the embrace; the Little side of him, which was firmly in control right now, sobbed and wrapped his arms around Bond’s neck. He couldn’t hold on hard, but he tried.

“Shh. It’s alright now,” Bond murmured, uncommonly gentle. His grip was strong and wonderfully tight as he stood, shifting Q’s weight to his right hip. 

Trevelyan circled around them like a shark. “He’s bleeding, James,” he said, voice strained. He’d traded his knife for a gun. “You should see his wrists. That – ” The rest of what he said was lost to a torrent of angry Russian, the words spoken too quickly for Q to grasp.

“Alec,” Bond said, feeling Q tense, and Trevelyan stopped.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll go first.”

“Don’t look, Q,” Bond whispered to him. He very carefully directed Q’s head down into the curve of his neck, hiding Q’s face from the world, and kept a hand on the back of Q’s neck to hold him there. It made Q’s glasses dig uncomfortably into his face, and the rhythm of Bond walking made his head throb and nausea grip his throat tight, but Q didn’t care.

They’d come for him.


	4. Chapter 4

James Bond was no stranger to fury, but this was a whole new level. His anger burned cold, churning low in his stomach, but right now it was mitigated by the concern and protectiveness for the traumatized Little in his arms. Q was crying quietly, like he was afraid someone was going to hear him, arms still wrapped around James’s neck. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Alec went first, passing through the carnage like it didn’t exist, grip tight on his gun. Blofield hadn’t been in the building when they came through. James was positive the coward had fled rather than face them; normally he would’ve gone after his prey, but right now Q was more important. There was no one in MI6 who was better equipped to take care of Q right now than the two of them. Q needed them, and James’s only regret was that he and Alec hadn’t been there for Q a lot earlier.

He wondered, not for the first time since the bombshell dropped in Moneypenny’s office, just how they’d missed this. In retrospect, it made so much bloody sense. There was always something about Q that had called to him. Alec had admitted to feeling the same way. James had chalked it up to a bit of sexual attraction and never bothered to explore those feelings further – it wouldn’t have been the first time he and Alec were attracted to the same person. 

Now, he understood that there was _nothing_ even _remotely_ sexual about what they felt. This was a surge of purely paternal instincts that had James ready to snap the neck of anyone who so much as looked at Q the wrong way. The image of Q, trussed up and crying with blood all over him, was seared into his brain; he’d seen worse in the course of his job, but this would stick with him forever.

A crowd of MI6 agents and personnel met them outside. Alec had thought to send word to Moneypenny that they’d found where Q was being held, and apparently she’d spread the word. Some of Blofield’s smarter henchmen had run when Alec and James barged in and they were all being taken into custody. The calamity quieted as people saw the two 00-agents standing there with the Quartermaster, and then suddenly the crowd part and a solitary, imposing figure marched towards them.

“You’ve got him,” M said with obvious relief. “Thank god. How is he?”

James wanted to snarl. M was standing far too close for his liking. He shifted Q slightly, just enough so that he could reach his gun if necessary. No one was going to take Q away from them. Alec edged in front of them, hands loose at his sides in an effort to lull everyone into a false sense of complacency. He was as dangerous with his bare hands as he was with a gun, but not many people knew that.

M frowned at their silence. “That bad? Then for god’s sake, don’t just stand there. I’ve brought the best in medical – Stonewall! Greyson!” he barked.

Two medical personnel began to move forward, dragging a stretcher with them. One of them had the balls to take a step too close. Alec reacted immediately, seizing the man’s wrist and effortlessly spinning him around, dragging his arm up behind his back. The man yowled in pain, but – displaying a modicum of intelligence – went limp instead of struggling. 

“006!” M exclaimed. “Stand down!”

“Sir.” Moneypenny hurried up to them. She caught M’s arm and went up on her tiptoes to hiss something into M’s ear. It wasn’t hard to guess what she was telling him based on how wide M’s eyes went. He looked at Moneypenny in disbelief before his gaze returned to James, Alec and Q. There was something new in his face: a wariness that hadn’t been there before.

Caregivers could be very dangerous if their Little was threatened or worse. It was the same surge of adrenaline and rage that could enable a father or mother to do extraordinary things, but on a whole other level because of the increased strength and stamina Caregivers possessed. Add in that James and Alec were both 00-agents who had been ruthlessly trained over the past several years and M was wise to tread lightly.

“Why was I not made aware of this before?” M demanded quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Moneypenny replied, equally softly. “I can only assume that the previous M didn’t have time to include it in her information.”

“You didn’t see fit too inform me either,” he hissed.

“No sir,” Moneypenny said, her chin taking on a stubborn tilt. “I felt it was more important to pass the information on to 006 and 007. I’m sure you can appreciate how they were uniquely positioned to benefit the most.”

M’s eyes had never left them. “And I suppose now you believe I should step aside and let them go.”

“It does seem to be the wisest course,” Moneypenny said slowly. She looked at them too, but her eyes held a warning. She’d shot James once but hadn’t killed him. If he hurt Q in any way, next time would be a kill shot. James held her gaze and nodded ever so slightly.

He could tell that M was weighing his options. He could fight them, but that would only end in more blooshed and possibly death – and in the end, James and Alec would still walk away the winners. Or he could let them go and trust that Q would be handled well, but in doing so he was putting far more faith in 00-agents than he’d shown thus far. It was a true struggle for him, but the moment he made up his mind was clear.

“We’ll be having words about this. But for now, you may go,” he declared.

James’s respect for M increased by several points, but he didn’t care enough to say as much now. Their car was parked three blocks over. Alec led the way, shoulders low and tension humming in every line of his body. James wouldn’t have put it past Blofield to try and attack now, but surprisingly they made it to the car safely. He slid into the passenger seat, Q in his lap, while Alec got behind the wheel.

Q whimpered as the car thrummed to life below them. James shushed him, rubbing at the nape of Q’s neck. Q’s hair was sticky with blood, and he suspected that Q had a terrible headache – possibly a concussion. They would have to check him over more thoroughly once they got back to the flat. For now, he held Q tightly and kept an eye out for any trouble.

But they made it back to their flat without incident, and James was actually able to relax a little once the door was securely closed and locked behind them. This flat was one they’d had for a long time now, a private safehouse that couldn’t be traced back to either one of them but which was outfitted to the best of their abilities. Knowing that they were going to bring Q here, Alec had also stocked it with the necessary supplies to care for a Little.

Safe now, James let his brain finally make the transition from 00-agent to Caregiver. “I’m going to take him into the bedroom,” he said to Alec. “He’ll need a bath, but he’s too worked up right now.”

Alec nodded and followed him down the hall. James didn’t hesitate to set Q down on the bed, even though Q was filthy: their blankets had seen worse. Q tried to cling to him, but his hands still weren’t working properly and James easily coaxed him away. Q blinked up at them miserably. His face was red from crying. Blood had poured down the side of his face, soaking into the collar of his once-crisp shirt. His glasses were askew, and he had bruises developing around his throat. He was a pitiful sight.

He was also deep in his headspace, and that was what James ultimately responded to. “Q,” he said, wishing he knew Q’s real name. It might have helped to separate work and play. “It’s alright. You’re safe now, darling. Alec and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Q’s eyes latched onto James’s face. The tears were still flowing, but he’d stopped making those awful whimpering sounds.

“He likes the sound of your voice,” Alec said. “Talk to him, James. I’ll undress him.”

“You’re okay, Q. Alec and I are right here with you. You’re in our flat,” James said. Q flinched when Alec’s hands touched his shirt, but he relaxed quickly and allowed Alec to pull his shirt off. James took his hands then, struggling to keep a new rush of anger from showing on his face. Q’s wrists were raw and bloody, showing how hard he’d fought to get free of his bonds.

“He wet himself,” Alec noted, moving on to Q’s trousers. 

“Moneypenny did say he was on the younger side,” said James as Alec removed Q’s trousers and pants. That left Q naked on the bed. More bruising was developing around his midsection and chest. One of them was in the shape of a boot print. James traced it lightly with a finger, fixing the shape of it in his mind. He vowed to pay Blofield back for every injury on Q’s body, and then some.

“Younger than we thought,” Alec said, but he didn’t sound displeased by the notion. The two of them had never fully discussed taking a Little, mostly because of the chaotic and dangerous nature of their job. But James knew they were well matched in this as they were in everything else.

“You want to keep him,” James said. It wasn’t a question.

“So do you,” Alec said. They looked at each other, having a silent but rapid conversation. The facts were simple: Q was a Little. After a traumatizing event like this, there was no way that Q would be able to carry on as he had. He would need ample time in his headspace paired with people to care for him. Competent, familiar people who Q would be able to trust. That was a small list, of which James was positive he and Alec topped. They were Caregivers, some of the only Caregivers who knew about or worked for MI6 for that matter, and thus uniquely positioned to be the ones who helped. It was pure logic.

But this was about more than logic. James lowered his gaze back to Q, who was now sucking his thumb and looking back and forth between them. Something about Q had always called to him. Now that he understood what it was, he was loathe to let Q get away. For the first time in his life, he thought he might actually want to have someone to come home to.

It would be complicated. There was no dismissing that. They were all in high demand and had incredibly busy jobs, particularly Q. There would be weeks where they might barely see each other. Hell, Alec had spent the better part of three years deep undercover not that long ago – though Alec had specifically requested that he not be assigned to that kind of job again, and M had agreed, there were still missions that could and would take them out of England for long stretches of time. For anyone else, that would’ve been a negative.

For Q, James figured that would probably end up being a positive. If there was one thing that Q didn’t like, it was people who hovered. Now James understood why: most Littles never got the chance to get the kind of position that Q had obtained, so Q had to have been hiding his classification for a while. At least part of the time Q was capable of staying in his big headspace, so it was very likely that Q would prefer Caregivers that could give him some space, while being there when he really needed them.

“I like him,” Alec admitted, breaking the silence first. “He’s got a spark. And I know you like him. You wouldn’t shut up about him.” He grinned.

“I couldn’t help myself. It’s biology,” James said with a huff, though they both knew it was more than that. Any random Little wouldn’t have brought out the same surge of emotion. This was all Q.

“Suuuuure. I just think someone has finally tamed the great James Bond.” 

“Shut up. Go get some water,” James said, exasperated and fond all at the same time. They needed to clean Q up as best they could and then bandage his wounds. He was hoping that Q would sleep for a little while and that, when Q woke, he’d be in a better headspace to talk about what happened.

After that… well, that would really be up to Q.


	5. Chapter 5

Q’s head hurt. It was the first thing he thought of when he woke. The second thought, hot on the heels of the first, was that the rest of his body hurt too. He groaned softly and then, realizing how stupid that had been, promptly tensed when what felt like a cool cloth was draped across his forehead. The coolness helped a bit with the pain in his head, but its appearance also proved that he was not alone.

“It’s okay, Q. You’re safe.”

That was Bond’s voice. Q was relaxing before he’d consciously realized it, opening his eyes to a smear of color. There was a blob of green and blond standing in front of him that was moving. Seconds later the frames of Q’s glasses were gently set on his face. To anyone else it would’ve been miraculous that they’d survived, but Q had reinforced both the frames and the glass a long time ago.

He blinked slowly as the room came into focus and revealed Bond with an uncustomarily worried look on his face. Bond leaned forward, staring directly into Q’s eyes. “How do you feel?”

“M’head hurts,” Q admitted, looking beyond Bond. He didn’t recognize the room they were in. It wasn’t MI6’s medical department, that was for sure. The room was painted pale blue and had dark wooden furniture that was too costly for MI6. Plus, the mattress underneath him was amazingly soft and comfortable.

“You have a concussion,” Bond said. “You’ve slept off the worst of it, but you should remain still.”

Slept off the worst of it? How long had he been here? Q tried to push himself up, but his arms felt like overcooked noodles. He only managed to get up far enough to see that he was no longer wearing the clothing he’d been in when he was kidnapped. He realized, with a flush of mortification, that he was mostly bare except for a nappy, several bandages, and a muscle shirt that must have belonged to Bond or Trevelyan.

“What is this?” Q hissed, embarrassed down to his very bones. Obviously his long-hidden secret was now out in the open. He couldn’t remember much after being taken out of the building, but he did remember clinging to Bond and sobbing like a child. So much for maintaining an air of professionalism. It was a wonder that he hadn’t been fired already. Or maybe he had and he just didn’t know it. The thought made the bottom drop out of his stomach and a sudden feeling of nausea gripped his throat.

Bond grabbed for a bucket and shoved it into Q’s lap seconds before Q lost what little he’d eaten the day before. The forceful act of throwing up made the pain in his head worse, which made his nausea worse. It was several minutes before he spit one last mouthful of bile into the bucket and then sank back against the pillows, gasping weakly. Someone whisked the bucket away and then replaced the cloth that had fallen off his forehead with a new, wet one. It felt wonderful.

“Easy, kotenok,” Trevelyan – because of course he was here too – murmured. Fingers began to run through his hair. That felt good too, easing the tension that had built up while he was vomiting. 

Q lay silently and breathed for a while. Time seemed to pass in great swatches. He was vaguely aware of Bond and Trevelyan occasionally speaking to each other in low voices and of Bond moving around the room, but since the feeling of Trevelyan’s hands in his hair never ceased, Q didn’t really care. It was only once the pain in his head had mostly gone that he opened his eyes again.

Trevelyan smiled down at him. It was a smile that took Q’s breath away. He’d _never_ seen a 00-agent look so… so… well, the only word that came to Q’s mind was _tender_. He hadn’t even known it was possible. The softness of the look made Trevelyan look like a completely different person. Q wanted to speak, but the moment had left him speechless.

“Q.” Bond came around and stood beside Trevelyan. His expression was, thankfully, a little more composed, but his blue eyes were unusually soft. It was the kind of gentle look a father might have given his child.

All at once, Q was reminded of the fact that both of these 00-agents were both Caregivers. He swallowed hard, eyes darting between them. “What?” His voice was nothing more than a hoarse rasp when he spoke. 

Both agents frowned and the stroking of Trevelyan’s fingers stopped as he leaned closer to Q. He slid an arm around Q’s shoulders and carefully lifted him up, supporting Q’s head with the crook of his shoulder. Bond moved closer too, holding – Q blinked in shock – a sippy cup. It was shorter and fatter than a normal cup, made to be easier for unsteady hands to grip, with a screw-on blue top that a small spout.

“Drink,” Bond urged, pressing the spout to Q’s mouth. Still in shock, Q obeyed. It took him a few seconds to work out how to drink before he discovered it was very similar to a bottle: he had to suck to get the liquid to come. The water was warm, but his dry throat wasn’t protesting. He drank deeply and tried to grab for the cup when Bond pulled it away.

“If you drink too much, you’ll get sick again,” Trevelyan told him. “Give it a couple of minutes and if your tummy is still okay, you can have some more.”

“I don’t understand what is happening,” Q said, very slowly.

The two agents exchanged a look loaded with meaning that Q’s muddled brain couldn’t parse. Then Bond said, “Blofield sent me a ransom note. He wanted me to give myself up for you. He left me enough clues to figure out where you were. Alec and I decided to drop in.” His smile was grim and humorless.

At least that explained how MI6 had found him, though not why Blofield would lead Bond there. Q said, “Blofield?”

“He got away,” Bond said, not without regret. There was a steely look in his eyes now. “I assume he fled when he realized Alec was with me, because he wasn’t in the building. When we left, MI6 was doing a search of the surrounding buildings, but I doubt they’ll find him. Blofield always was good at knowing exactly when to turn around and run.”

So Blofield was still out there. Q concealed a shudder, or tried. It seemed that Trevelyan felt it anyway, because the arm around him immediately tightened. “Don’t worry, Q. He’ll never touch you again,” Trevelyan vowed, brushing his finger beneath Q’s lip to remove a drop of water.

It was an intimate touch that finally broke through the shock blanketing Q’s brain, and he lurched upwards. Or tried, anyway. He couldn’t get far before pain left him breathless, but it was enough to lever him out of Trevelyan’s grip. It also proved that 00-agents could take a hint, because Trevelyan leapt up and quickly stuffed several pillows beneath Q’s back for additional support. Q leaned against them, panting quietly, and glared at them.

“What are you doing? Why are you treating me like this? I’m not your Little,” he said heatedly, and was very proud of himself for not letting his voice waver. He was much too close to his headspace for this conversation, but it wasn’t like he could get up and walk away. Trevelyan and Bond probably would give him space if he asked, but part of Q was burning with curiosity.

Bond and Trevelyan exchanged looks again. Still looking at Trevelyan, Bond said, “Would you like to be?”

“Wait. What?” Q blinked rapidly, wondering if he’d misheard. From the identical earnest looks he received, he hadn’t. 

“We’re offering to take care of you, at least while you’re hurt. Maybe more,” Trevelyan said. 

“Maybe… _what_?!” Q heard himself squeak and flushed, clearing his throat. “This is ludicrous. Nothing has changed about me. Just because you know I’m a Little now doesn’t mean I want you to change how you treat me. I’m still same person!” His stomach clenched as he spoke his deepest fear outloud. Littles were very well treated, but most people thought they couldn’t do anything. Q didn’t know what he would do if no one at MI6 took him seriously or trusted him to do his job just because of his classification.

“Q, that’s not –” Surprisingly, Bond stopped himself mid-sentence. He paused for a second, then continued in a gentler tone, “That’s not what this is. All three of us know that you are still the most comptetent person at MI6. There is no one I would rather have at the other end of an earphone when I’m running a mission. That hasn’t changed now that I know.”

“That goes for me too,” Trevelyan piped up. “I wouldn’t trust a gun or weapon from anyone at Q-branch unless it came from your qualified hands.”

They looked like they believed what they were saying, but Q was skeptical. “Then what’s all… this?” He indicated the bed and his body. 

“We’re Caregivers, and you’re a Little that means a lot to us. How else did you expect us to respond?” Bond asked frankly.

Oh. Q hadn’t thought about it like that. Caregivers had instincts that drove them to care and protect. Typically those instincts applied to any Little, but they were even stronger when it came to friends or familial relations. Or, in this case, coworkers who, on any number of occasions, had held their lives in the palm of his hand, and would do so again soon. It explained why Bond and Trevelyan were fussing over him so much. Some of his anger dissipated, though his discomfort and embarrasment lingered.

He dropped his gaze. “But you’ve never had a Little before,” he pointed out.

“I have,” Trevelyan said unexpectedly, and Q looked up at him in surprise.

So did Bond. “Alec…”

“It’s fine, James. It was a long time ago,” Trevelyan added to Q. 

“There’s nothing in your file about a Little,” Q said. He only realized he’d pretty much admitted that he had scoured their files for any mention of a Little when both agents smiled.

“It was way before I came to MI6. I was a different person then. Losing her changed me a lot.” Trevelyan’s smile faded as he spoke, green eyes darkening. There was obviously more to the story than he was telling, but he clearly wasn’t willing to elaborate.

“I’m sorry,” Q said. 

“Thanks. I meant it when I said it was a long time ago. It’s old news. And just because I haven’t taken a Little since then didn’t mean I didn’t want one. I’m a 00-agent, Q. So is Jamsey. We can’t pick up any old Little off the street and call it a day. Our lives are too dangerous for that.”

“What we want,” Bond spoke up, “is just to take care of you for now. We can talk about long term later if you decide you want to. Is that okay?”

Q didn’t know what to say. Everything in him was screaming a resounding _yes_ , but he was scared. And the worst part was that he couldn’t articulate _why_ he was so scared. Trevelyan and Bond were the two 00-agents the most and they’d both been unaccountably gentle so far, treating him as though he were made of glass. Exactly the way he’d always wished for during those rare moments when he allowed himself to fantasize about the perfect caregiver – hell, both of them had featured in his fantasies before. Even if this didn’t work out and they went back to being co-workers, didn’t he owe it to himself to at least have the memory of this time?

“I should warn you, I’ve been told I’m a terrible patient,” he whispered at last.

Both agents grinned.


	6. Chapter 6

The first day back to work was harder than Q expected. M had given all three of them a full month off. It was the first time in Q’s memory that 006 and 007 had received vacation time and actually taken said time without showing up at MI6 to be obnoxiously annoying to those who did have to work. He was sure, had he taken the time to ask around, that it would’ve been the first time in _anyone’s_ memory.

He was expecting the stack of work that was waiting for him; in spite of R’s and Q-branch’s best efforts, there were some things that only Q could take care of. He was even expecting the pang of loss that went through him when he woke up that morning, alone for the first time in days as per his own wishes – after spending weeks in his Little headspace, he’d needed some time to reorient himself. What he wasn’t expecting was how hard it would get and how short his temper would run as the day wore on.

He missed James and Alec.

The knowledge of that niggled at the back of Q’s mind as he sorted through yet another stack of paperwork. He missed falling asleep with Alec’s hands running down his face and back; he was getting sleepy as the day wore on, having gotten used to regular naps. He missed drinking a bottle while curled up in James’s lap. He missed how comical, kind and genuinely sweet the two men could be behind closed doors.

“What have they done to me?” Q muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. The thought of going home to his own, empty flat tonight made him want to cry. But this time, there would be no 00-agents rushing to comfort him. Neither James nor Alec had mentioned what would happen after Q went back to work, and – the few times he’d been in his big headspace over the past month – Q had been too afraid to bring it up. 

Because he wanted it. He wanted them. He wanted them so badly that it hurt. Even with a few fumbles here and there, James and Alec had been everything he could’ve hoped for. And with time, Q knew, the craving would only get worse. He’d had a taste of proper Caregivers, but that just wasn’t enough. The next time he went into his Little headspace, because he had to every so often for his own health, was going to be awful. Taking care of himself just wouldn’t be the same.

The door was closed and locked for good measure, so Q jumped when he heard it slide open. His head shot up, panic thrumming through his veins, but it was only James. Q blinked at him for a long moment, bewildered. As far as he knew, 007 had no active missions at the moment. Actually, he was pretty sure that 007 and 006 had been called to M’s office pretty much the moment they stepped into MI6. Q had half-expected to be summoned as well, but nothing had come yet.

James closed the door behind him, watching Q closely. Whatever he found in Q’s face didn’t seem to make him happy. He frowned as he closed the distance between them, hands outstretched. Q’s blank brain couldn’t figure out what James was doing until James’s hands slid under his arms. Q squeaked as he was hauled out of his chair and up into the air, then against a familiar, strong chest.

“What’s wrong, baby?” James asked. His voice was low and soothing, falling into the same tone he only ever used around Q. “Are you sleepy?”

“We’re at work. Stop it,” Q said half-heartedly, though he made no effort to get down. James’s arms felt too good wrapped around him, snug and secure. He was a weak man: he couldn’t resist wrapped his legs around James’ waist and curling his fingers into James’s jumper and holding on while he laid his head on James’s shoulder. The scent of this cologne would forever be comforting.

James chuckled. “I know we’re at work. Believe me, Alec and I just spent the last five and a half hours being read the riot act by M. Seems he’s none too pleased about the fact that we went off-grid to rescue you. He’s also not happy that he wasn’t made aware of your classification.”

“No one knew,” Q mumbled. “Except the old M.” The antsy feeling that had been prickling beneath his skin all day had finally eased. 

“I know. Unfortunately, M knows now and he’s a real stickler for people taking care of themselves.”

“What does that mean?” Q heard the fear in his own voice. All of his worst fears were coming true right before his eyes.

“Shh, Q. It’s okay. He’s not going to spread your classification around. M’s agreed that it’s highly classified information and it’ll stay as a ‘need-to-know’ basis only. It’s been entered into your file, but locked down so that only certain people can see it. Like Medical, if you were ever wounded.”

“I don’t like it,” Q said.

“I know you don’t, but M’s right. Medical could hurt you if they didn’t know something that important and Alec or I weren’t around to tell them.”

That caught Q’s attention, pulling him away from his horrifying fantasy wherein all of MI6 found out about him and he lost the collective respect of everyone. “Why would you and Alec be there?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“Oh, Q.” James sighed. “I think Alec needs to be here for this conversation. We worked some details out with M that you need to know about too. Can you leave now?”

“I still have work to do, but I guess it can wait,” Q said. He squirmed to get down and James let him, though he found he missed being held as soon as he was free. He stepped over to his computer and shut it down, gathered the most important paperwork and then followed James out. He stopped for a quick word with R and then they were on their own way.

James slid an arm around his shoulders as they walked to the lift; even though several other agents and staff members looked at them curiously, Q allowed it. A little seed of hope was blossoming in his chest. If, by some miracle, it turned out that James and Alec wanted the same things that Q did, saying they were dating or sleeping together would be an excellent cover. That would help in its own way. Q drew a lot of attention from curious people who noticed his complete lack of a love life. Even a lessening in those comments would be a blessing.

Alec was waiting for them by the car. He immediately pulled Q into a huge hug, bundling him into the back of the car while James got into the driver’s seat. Q leaned comfortably against Alec’s side, eyes feeling heavy now that he was back with both of them. Alec stroked his head and hummed softly, a familiar lullably that sent Q off to sleep. He didn’t wake up until they arrived back at the flat, and even then he woke still sleepy.

He stumbled into the flat and sank down onto the sofa, smiling as his cats leapt to join him. It was Alec’s idea to bring them to the flat, and they had settled in very nicely. Q had thought he’d be moving them back to his own flat tonight, but he was beginning to think that wouldn’t be the case at all. He petted the cats absently and glanced between the two 00-agents.

“What did you mean when you said M is a stickler for people taking care of themselves?” Q asked, deciding to open with an easy question.

“He’s concerned because of the long hours you work,” Alec said, moving to join Q on the sofa. “He wants to meet with you at some point this week. I think he may make some kind of stipulation about how many hours you can work without taking a nap or at least a break.”

Q flushed. “I don’t need naps when I’m at work,” he said defensively.

“That’s for you and M to work out, but frankly I disagree. Littles need more sleep than most people. You shouldn’t push yourself too much,” Alec said. He held up a hand. “I know, I’m being hypocritical. James and I push ourselves further than we should too. Like I said, M wants to talk to you and that’s a discussion that you can have with him. He may decide that you can handle yourself.”

“I can. I can take care of myself,” Q said. He’d been doing it for years. It was true that he’d been in need of a nap today, but that was because Alec and James had got him used to taking naps. That would pass in time.

“We know you can,” said James. He sat on the coffee table in front of Q. “But you shouldn’t have to. Littles and Caregivers have different needs from the general population. It seems M feels that Alec and I fall under the same umbrella of not taking care of ourselves as you do. He’s mandating that at least three weeks of the year, outside of our normal vacation, should be spent seeing to those needs.”

“Really?” Q said, surprised.

“Yes, really. He says he’ll aim for quiet times,” James made a face at that, “and that none of us would be called in during that time unless it was urgently necessary, but that it’s a must. Something about keeping his top agents and most valued staff member in top condition.”

“I, for one, would welcome it,” Alec said. “Under one condition.”

“What condition was that?” Q asked, thinking very hard. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be. It sounded like his discussion with M would be very telling about his future at MI6. He was reasonably sure he could convince M that his presence was necessary even if M felt differently (and it sounded like he didn’t); the problem was that he wasn’t so sure that he could convince M that all of these accommodations were unnecessary. M was not a Caregiver, but Eve had told him that M had two siblings that were – which was both good and bad, as it meant M might be more familiar with Littles than the average neutral would be.

“We’d like to spend the time with you,” James said frankly.

Alec took one of his hands. “What he means is that we want you to be our Little, Q.”

Q looked back and forth between them, taking in the serious expressions on their faces. There was no hint of a joke, not that he thought this would’ve been. In spite of his initial hesitation, hey’d both proven themselves in the past month. Not just as Caregivers, but as men he could trust with not just his life, but his heart as well. He remained silent long enough, just thinking, that they spoke again.

“I promise we’ll treat you the same at work. No one will learn of your classification from us. Half of MI6 already thinks three of us are dating. We can encourage that. It’s an easy answer that will excuse a lot,” James said.

“You’ll still be our Quartermaster. It’s just, whenever we’re in town we’d like to be here with you,” Alec added. “You don’t need to be little all the time when you’re with us, of course. But sometimes. It’s hard to find ways to unwind after a mission that don’t involve sex or alcohol. With you, I think it could be a lot easier.”

That was fair. And Q had to admit that he liked the sound of this being a two-way street. He cleared his throat. “I’m willing to agree under two conditions,” he said.

“What would those be?” James asked immediately.

“I know you’re 00-agents and have dangerous jobs, but sometimes you both take needless and unnecessary risks. I want that to stop,” Q said firmly. He’d already lost his parents. He wasn’t willing to go through that again. “And secondly, I want your word that if you ever lose interest in this you’ll tell me immediately. I would much rather be told upfront than have to find out later.”

“Deal,” Alec said. “James?”

James was a little slower to respond, looking thoughtful for a couple of seconds before he spoke. “I can agree to those terms. We’ll expect that last one goes both ways.”

“Of course,” Q said. He wasn’t sure how to quantify what he was feeling. Relief, definitely. Giddiness. Maybe even a little bit of disbelief. It was hard to believe that someone wanted him. He’d spent so long believing that he’d never find anyone who would want him, both because his work life was so secretive and because of who he was.

“Excellent.” Alec clapped his hands, scaring one of the cats off the sofa. “Now, it’s been a long day and you look tired. Little time tonight, or no?”

He liked that Alec asked. Q raised his hands up in a silent ask to be held. “I’m tired,” he said, letting a hint of a quiver seep into his voice. As he expected, Alec’s face softened. He scooped Q up and hugged him close. Q buried his face in Alec’s shoulder and didn’t even try to listen to the faint murmur of conversation above his head. He didn’t need to. He trusted them.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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